


Out of the Picture

by Luinlothana



Series: Different Path [3]
Category: Blood Ties (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luinlothana/pseuds/Luinlothana
Summary: Generally any views considering photos as something other than means to capture an image are considered silly. Still, why would that stop Vicki from taking a case of a photo that did a few more things than that? Sequel to: Darkest Moments, Whatever the Weather
Relationships: Henry Fitzroy/Vicki Nelson
Series: Different Path [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607503
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Twice Bitten





	Out of the Picture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TiserT](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TiserT).



> Disclaimer: One might think it is perfectly obvious that it is not the ownership of rights to a work but appreciation of somebody else’s creation that is expressed in creation of fanfiction, seeing how the name itself indicates it is, in fact, created by fans. But for those who have trouble connecting a few facts and bored intellectual property lawyers with too much time on their hands – I hereby state that I have no claim as to the intellectual property the story below is based on, and I would happily sign any of my ideas away to the creators of the series should it ever by some miracle be picked up for another season, if they only wanted them. All the money generated by the story went to Doctors Without Borders.
> 
> Story written for Help_Japan community auction available courtesy of TiserT
> 
> A/N: A big thank you goes to Marlana for betareading.

Out of the Picture

  
  


> _“Photography deals exquisitely with appearances,  
>  but nothing is what it appears to be.”  
> Duane Michals_

  
  
The afternoon was a slow one. Or rather the entire day was a slow one, following suit with the previous couple of days. It wasn’t that Vicki hadn’t been grateful for a bit of a breather after dealing with Egyptian necromancy and such but while she wasn’t exactly worried about paying her bills and Coreen’s salary just yet, she certainly welcomed the sound of the phone ringing and that of a one-sided conversation indicating that her assistant was putting a client meeting on their schedule.  
  
“Well?” the PI asked as soon as the call ended.  
  
“Nothing much, sorry. He sounds about forty, rather on the cultured side, asked how much you charge and wants to meet you tomorrow at one.”  
  
“What’s the case?”  
  
“He didn’t say. Just that it’s something about family matters. I’m betting a cheating spouse, he would be more agitated if it was a teen running away.”  
  
“I guess we’ve got a job then.”  
  
“Yeah, nothing really interesting though,” the girl admitted sadly and Vicki silently wondered when exactly had having a supernatural case became something to look forward to rather than an annoying necessity.  
  
“Well, sorry to disillusion you, but if we were picky neither of us would be able to afford food. Now scatter. I’m busy.”  
  
The girl glanced at her desk and smirked. “I can see. When you’re done with it, can I get the crossword?”  
  
Vicki shot her a dirty look. “Shouldn’t you show some respect for your boss?”  
  
“You did it in ink again, didn’t you?”  
  
Vicki sent her assistant a half-hearted glare.  
  


III

  
  
You know a severe example of Murphy’s Law is out to get you when, while looking for a distraction from a terribly mundane day, you end up wandering to your _vampire_ partner’s home, only to find him occupied by something mundane.  
  
“Vicki, you _know_ I have to do this.”  
  
“Did I say anything?”  
  
“Not as such. But I can almost _hear_ you frowning behind my back. You _do_ realise I have a deadline tomorrow and I don’t exactly have the option of working late into the day should I be running late with the inking, don’t you?”  
  
“I wasn’t complaining, was I?”  
  
“Anything but.”  
  
“Should I be worried you’re getting delusional? Go finish playing with your colouring book.”  
  
“If I wasn’t short on time and it wasn’t a Sisyphean task anyway, I would perhaps explain the difference between a colouring book and a _black and white_ graphic novel _still_ in need of inking. As it is, I hope you will forgive me if I refrain from rising to your bait,” Henry told her without lifting his gaze from the page.  
  
Vicki rolled her eyes at him and sighed.  
  
“How come you are taking so long though? I mean, between how long you’ve been doing this and the fact that you can write a thousand words per minute, you should be doing this faster.”  
  
“I seem to recall us having this talk before. I don’t suppose you’ve ever encountered the mysterious concept called ‘precision’? Or are you suggesting I should do a poor job simply because you are bored?”  
  
“I’m not bored.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“I’m simply wondering when you’ll be done.”  
  
“I still have three pages to go. Which you’d know, had you paid attention the last time you asked.”  
  
“You mean the time you changed the topic to Balzac for whatever reason?”  
  
“Just after I answered your question, yes. If you recall, the reason for that was the reference to ‘Father Goriot’ in the scene I was working on.”  
  
“Which, by the way, will go over the heads of all your readers. I’m willing to bet the only Balzac they _might_ have heard of lies in Alberta.”  
  
“Just why do I have a feeling that you don’t have a very high opinion of my readers?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe because you are an optimist to the point of losing touch with reality and need someone to remind you the world isn’t all rainbows, pink clouds and fluffy kittens?”  
  
“Not _all_ that? Is this Vicki Nelson saying the world is _partly_ about rainbows, pink clouds and fluffy kittens?”  
  
“Watch it.”  
  
“Of course, Vicki.”  
  
“Seriously. Just because it would be bad form to do something drastic to you during the day, doesn’t mean I won’t if you tick me off.”  
  
“Ah, but I know you won’t.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“Indeed. You are meeting your client tomorrow and wouldn’t want to do anything that would potentially deprive you of help should the case prove interesting. And once you _do_ meet the client, you will be busy enough not to contemplate such things.”  
  
Vicki muttered something darkly under her breath.  
  
“You know,” Henry carefully set down his pen, “I can think of a few things that could persuade me to take a short break if you’re this desperate.” In a blink of an eye he was suddenly in front of Vicki, embracing her. “I promise you’d enjoy that sort of entertainment, too.”  
  
“Your hand is stained with ink. If I find any of it on my shirt, you’re buying me a new one,” she informed him.  
  
“In that case, I might need to take some preventive measures,” he made a quick work of the buttons of her shirt before slowing down to assess her reaction. She was scowling. “I thought you didn’t want your clothing stained?” he asked innocently.  
  
“Believe me, that’s the only thing saving you from being staked on the spot.”  
  
“The _only_ thing? And there I thought that the distinct lack of any stakes in the vicinity might be a factor as well.”  
  
“Trust me, I can get creative.”  
  
He smiled. “That’s actually excellent news as I trust it doesn’t apply to just this one matter,” he ran his hand across her back as she did her best to pin him down with her glare.  
  
“Wouldn’t you wish to find out?” she shot back provocatively, before realising that Henry’s eyes took on a surprisingly absent expression.  
  
“Could you hold on to that look?” he asked suddenly, confusing her. Before she could start wondering if something interesting hadn’t finally started happening, he dashed for his sketchbook and had a pencil flying over a page at an impossible speed.  
  
“Want to tell me what this is about?”  
  
“In a moment,” he replied distractedly. “Just...”  
  
Before she knew what was happening, her hair was no longer held by a clip.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Give me a minute. And could you look to the side a little bit?”  
  
“Weren’t you busy finishing something just a moment ago?”  
  
He flipped to a new page. “Yes, I’ll go back to it in a minute but I want to capture this idea while I still remember it. Could you lift your chin now? Thank you.”  
  
It’s a testimony of how “normal” your life is, Vicki decided, when you find yourself randomly getting urges to throttle a vampire.  
  


III

  
  
“So what is this supposed to be again?” Vicki looked critically at a picture of herself, with dark hair, dressed in one of those huge dresses of mid-18th century, holding an elaborate dagger. If she wasn’t much mistaken, there was also an outline of a pistol in the tiny handbag on her wrist.  
  
“It’s simply an idea I had...”  
  
“You said as much. I still don’t see it.”  
  
“Then allow me to introduce you to Claudine. She grew up with her brother as her closest friend, playmate and confidant. After his mysterious death, she swore to avenge him and ran from home, shortly before her betrothal, to discover the truth. She switched from pretending to be a defenceless female to posing as her late brother as the traveled through Europe in search of answers.”  
  
Vicki peered closer at the picture.  
  
“What’s with the dagger?” she asked eventually.  
  
“Wearing a sword with the dress would draw attention. She did that only when dressing as a man to avoid suspicion.”  
  
“You want her to avoid suspicion? How about this? I don’t think they had push-up bras back then.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say her figure needs any additional help. Still, I seem to recall having a few acquaintances who made up for that by means of handkerchiefs stuffed in strategic places,” he responded with a quirky smile.  
  
She looked at him for a second, trying to decide whether it would be a better idea to ask how many females he saw doing exactly that or focus on the logistics involved in the padding not migrating to some strange location under the dress. Finally she chose to go with something else entirely.  
  
“Where the hell did you dredge up the name Claudine from anyway?”  
  
“What’s wrong with ‘Claudine’?”  
  
“I don’t think it fits m... the character, I mean.”  
  
“Veronique then?”  
  
“Try again, buster.”  
  
“Caroline?”  
  
“You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Laure?”  
  
She thought about it for a second. “Let’s say that will make an acceptable working version.”  
  
“I’m glad you approve. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll finish with the inking so we can focus on some more mutually satisfying activities.”  
  
She shot him a dubious look. “You’d better hurry then or I might not be in mood for anything.”  
  
He bowed slightly, smiling. “As my lady wishes.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Behave, will you?”  
  
He grinned.  
  


III

  
  
The next day began slowly with a heavy, gray morning that spoke of an upcoming rain. Vicki sighed heavily, taking a sip of her coffee, silently wondering what exactly had she been thinking deciding to get up so early when Henry dropped her home at four in the morning and she didn’t have the client scheduled until one.  
  
She looked absently around her desk, realising the newspaper still hadn’t made it that far into the office.  
  
"Vicki?" Coreen, still holding the paper with the crossword hostage on her desk, spoke up. "What do you call fuel burning too fast in a firearm?"  
  
"Usually? One hell of a medical emergency."  
  
"I was hoping for something eleven letters long."  
  
Vicki slowly stood up and made her way over to her assistant’s desk to stretch her legs. "I'll tell you. As soon as you give me the crossword."  
  
"Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"  
  
"Fine then. Know my good heart. You have fifteen minutes to finish, as long as it's in pencil. And it's burst breech."  
  
"Your good heart, huh?" the girl repeated sceptically receiving Vicki's glare.  
  
"Make that ten minutes."  
  


III

  
  
At five to one, Mr. Klein, who, despite Coreen’s estimates, turned out to be in his early fifties, knocked on the office door in an apparent hurry to meet with them. He looked a bit nervous and cleared his throat a couple of times before actually speaking.  
  
"Ms. Nelson, the thing I come to you with is perhaps a bit unusual but I honestly don't know where else to turn. When I saw your ad I thought you might be the only person that can help me find out what's really going on."  
  
Vicki frowned at such an introduction. "And what seems to be going on?"  
  
"A couple of days ago my aunt started talking with a photograph of her late husband. She’s been living with us for a couple of years now and she practically raised me."  
  
She adjusted her glasses and started playing with a pen. "It might be just me, but that doesn't seem all that unusual."  
  
"That's what I thought at first. The problem began when the photo started talking back."  
  
Vicki stilled the pen frozen between her fingers and mentally counted to ten. And _there_ was the other falling shoe. Just when she was hoping for a normal case, some regular, simple case after all the animated corpses. She looked straight at the man.  
  
“I’m assuming that by ‘talking back’ you don’t mean switching from regular photos to videos?”  
  
“I’m afraid not. May I be frank with you, Ms. Nelson?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Everything I’m telling you about, I know only from what my aunt told me. She was hospitalised a few days ago after she lost consciousness for no apparent reason. When I came to talk to her, she told me about the conversations she had with the photograph. I would have possibly dismissed that, had it not been for the fact that I know very few people with as firm hold on reality as hers. I feel I owe it to her to verify if she’s telling the truth or if she is hallucinating, in which case I’ll need to inform her doctors as it may be a symptom of what’s wrong with her.”  
  
“I see.” Vicki set her pen down. Sadly, her experience of people seeming to be perfectly normal and healthy until events showed otherwise was something she was more familiar with in her previous line of work than she’d care to admit. How easy would it be if all people showing signs of schizophrenia simply admitted to them as soon as they started hearing voices? She sighed. “I assume you tried to verify the story yourself before coming to me?”  
  
“I did, without any luck. But then I thought that I should probably turn to a professional as I have absolutely no idea about how to go about things like that. I assume you could be called such?”  
  
“You might say that. I’ve had my share of unusual cases, I assure you.”  
  
“Excellent. Can I hope you’ll take the case then?”  
  
“Why not? Just so you’re aware of the cost, though, I do charge five hundred a day and it might take a few days to verify the story.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Ms. Nelson. I’m prepared for the expense.”  
  
“Excellent. When would be the best time for you to show me the photo?”  
  
“That’s another problem. I’m not quite sure which one she meant. There are a few of them around the house. But if you could come tomorrow around ten, my wife would show you in.”  
  
“Thanks. Now, if you could give me all the details your aunt told you.”  
  


III

  
  
“Talking photos,” Vicki said in lieu of greeting as soon as Henry opened the door.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Talking photos,” she repeated. “Ever heard about them?”  
  
“I assume you aren’t alluding to a phenomenon otherwise known as cinematography? Because I seem to recall it featuring sound since the twenties.”  
  
She shot him a glare. “Gee, that’s helpful. And there I was hoping you might be useful for something.”  
  
“If you are under the impression I’m not, I might need to defend my honour,” he informed her, swiftly closing the door and moving them to the sofa.  
  
In retrospect, Vicki decided, such wording might have been a little unfortunate. Or perhaps not so much unfortunate, she corrected herself mentally as she stifled a moan, as it was decidedly counterproductive if she wanted to achieve something constructive tonight.  
  


III

  
  
After a bit over half an hour Vicki decided she couldn’t delay any longer, no matter how much she’d rather they continued with the distraction. She sighed.  
  
“Henry? Fun as this is, I was hoping you’d be more helpful. I wasn’t joking about the talking photos.”  
  
“I have to say, Victoria, you have a truly unique talent for spoiling the moment,” he muttered quirking his lips as he ran his fingers along her arm. “What was it exactly you wanted to know then?”  
  
She swatted his hand. “I’m trying to focus here. Have you ever heard of someone being able to talk with a photo?”  
  
“Talk _with_ as opposed to talking _to_ , I gather?” He frowned a bit, sitting up.  
  
“Right in one. So?”  
  
“I have to say I don’t recall anything along those lines. I _did_ hear about cursed or possessed paintings capable of communicating on occasion. What’s the case?”  
  
“My client wants me to verify if his aunt is delusional.”  
  
“And is she? What does she say?”  
  
“See, that’s the thing. According to him, she had always been very rational and trustworthy. Then she collapsed one day and afterwards told him about her conversations with a photo of her dead husband.”  
  
“Any indication that they actually took place?”  
  
“None that Mr. Klein knows of.”  
  
“I see. What do _you_ think then?”  
  
“I’d rather you told me first. Wouldn’t want your opinion to be influenced by what you hear.”  
  
He shot her an amused look. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, _Detective_ Nelson?”  
  
“Watch it. Now, what do you think?”  
  
“The golden rule of Ockham’s razor would suggest that there actually is no talking photo. Instead, the woman could have suffered a minor aneurysm that resulted either in hallucinations or false memories or both.”  
  
“I sense a but there.”  
  
“Indeed. Although that _would_ be the most obvious answer, it doesn’t necessary mean it is the correct one. There is always a possibility there is some kind of possessed photo, which could be dangerous if it’s left unchecked.”  
  
“Still, I won’t be holding my breath. I promised my client I would look into it but I’ll stick to probability in this case.”  
  
“It does seem to be a reasonable policy. Will you need my help?”  
  
“I’m going to the client’s house tomorrow at ten a.m. My guess is you won’t be terribly helpful then. But it would be nice if you came to the office so we can show you what we found.”  
  
“With pleasure. And speaking of pleasure, seeing how you won’t have any concrete information until tomorrow, would you mind terribly if we returned to our previous occupation?”  
  


III

  
  
The next day, Vicki was at her office at half past eight, hoping to have a quick look at the news before they needed to leave for the field work. She grabbed the newspaper from Coreen’s desk as she went, ignoring the girl’s cry of protest.  
  
Inhaling the smell of fresh coffee she was holding, she started to browse the paper.  
  
"Listen to this," she spoke looking up from the crossword. "Five across: 'Henry, Earl of Surrey, one of the Fathers of English Sonnets'. Think we should tell Henry his childhood friend made the papers today?"  
  
"I'm not sure being mentioned in a crossword counts," Coreen grinned at her. "But once we're done with it, we could cut the crossword out and give it to him. I'm sure he'll like it, so long as you don't spoil it by doing it in ink."  
  
"Why would I do something like that?" Vicki frowned at the girl, very slowly putting down her pen and reaching for a pencil. She rolled her eyes at the Goth's grin widening.  
  


III

  
  
About noon, Vicki had to admit to herself she was frustrated. It wasn’t that there were any problems – they found the house easily enough, Mrs. Klein not only greeted them pleasantly and let them in but also made them some sandwiches and offered a tour of the house so they would have an easier time finding their way around once they started searching.  
  
No, the problem was that not only were they looking for a needle in a haystack, she suspected that needle actually never existed and the whole stack was stuffed with misleading silvery straw. Or something like that, anyway. She had a strange feeling that when it came to metaphors, Henry had much better literary instincts.  
  
The only room she actually didn’t see any old photos in was a rather messy room of a teenager, with walls painted black, covered in posters with strange, elaborate crosses and some bands she never heard of and a lot of silver male jewellery lying around.  
  
“So this is what a room of an average Goth looks like, huh? Very.... _cosy_ ,” she muttered in Coreen’s direction.  
  
Her assistant rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. And there is always enough room on the floor to throw together a quick summoning when we feel like it and aren’t busy attending dark Sabbats. Or aren’t frolicking with vampires. Oh, wait, not the last bit, that’s actually PIs and cops.”  
  
“Mind your own business, will you?”  
  
“Not that it’s fair. These days it seems like _everyone_ is dating a vampire aside from me.”  
  
“First of all, Mike and me is hardly everyone. You should get out more if you think we’re all there is to Toronto’s population. And second, _dating_? I wouldn’t say...”  
  
“Of course you wouldn’t. Doesn’t mean it’s not obvious to anyone seeing the two of you.”  
  
“We’re at work, remember? We’re supposed to be looking for a talking photo, not discussing my private life. How about you take the upstairs and I’ll search the ground floor?”  
  
“Suit yourself. But you don’t need to worry. You’re cute together.”  
  
“ _Coreen_!”  
  


III

  
  
Coreen looked around to make sure Vicki was not watching before sinking into an armchair. Carefully, using only two fingers to avoid any damage to her make-up if possible, she rubbed tiredly her eyes. Fun as yesterday’s marathon of “The Highlander” series was, she was definitely starting to feel the consequences.  
  
She freed her hair from the pin hoping to relieve some tension and started struggling with one of the braids constituting her hairstyle of the day that got caught in her ring during the process. It seemed the more she tried, the more stuck it became.  
  
“You should move your hand a bit to the left,” she heard a voice somewhere close to her. She jumped nervously at that, wincing as she unwittingly tugged at her hair. Very slowly, she looked to the side.  
  
There was no one there.  
  
She stood up and looked around again, abandoning all thoughts of inconspicuousness, but the only (though not exactly unappreciated) effect was that she finally freed her hair from her ring.  
  
Moving in a more unrestricted manner now, she looked nervously around once more. She wasn’t giving into panic. Everything was perfectly all right. She was prepared for situations like this. Well, maybe not ‘prepared’ as such but she was definitely aware of the possibility of something outside the realm of scientifically explicable occurring. And she was a _Goth_ working as an assistant in a PI agency _specialising in the supernatural_ , for crying out loud. She could handle disembodied voices giving her advice any day. Or at least she hoped she could.  
  
“Who’s there?” she asked, proud of herself about how confident she sounded.  
  
“No need to be afraid, child,” the voice said again.  
  
Well, strange voices or not, Vicki had taught her better than to take such patronising.  
  
“Who are you calling a child?” she protested, silently wondering about the point of arguing about the forms of address with someone she couldn’t even see. “And who are you?”  
  
“Oh, how terribly impolite of me. Malcolm Browne, pleased to meet you. I had no intention to offend you, my dear. If you could tell me your name, I’ll make sure to use it instead.”  
  
Coreen looked around, now pretty sure she identified the direction the voice was coming from. Still, there was nothing she could see there. She started to cautiously inch toward the area, all the while considering the request.  
  
There was no way she was telling her name to some disembodied voice of unknown origin. Especially since it was something of a time-honoured tradition among the malevolent creatures and demons to use one’s true name against them. Not to mention, the experience of walking into a satanistic ritual and a voodoo curse had taught her a thing or two about exercising caution. Plus, she _did_ read ‘Rumpelskiltskin’ as a kid. Oh, sure it _could_ be just someone playing a practical joke on her but there was no way she was offering her name on a silver platter. Then again, she was not about to let someone call her a _child_.  
  
“I’m Cora Fenouil,” she finally said. This should be enough to protect her without making her look over her shoulder to see who the voice was talking to,  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fenouil. Are you a friend of Robert’s?”  
  
She blinked. Who was Robert and why would she be taken to be his friend? Wait, hadn’t Mrs. Klein told them that the room belonged to her son Bobby?  
  
“Not exactly,” she answered vaguely, finally noticing a frame she missed in the suspected area.  
  
And there was a photo in it.  
  
A photo of an elderly man that, as she was looking at him, very slowly smiled at her. She took a deep breath.  
  
“Mr. Browne?” she asked cautiously, receiving a slow nod. The photo was moving rather sluggishly but compared to all the photos she’d seen so far, it was already quite an achievement. “Are you by any chance the husband of Mr. Klein’s aunt Helen?”  
  
“Yes, my Ellie. I haven’t seen her for the last couple of days, though. I hope she hadn’t hurt herself. She always was a bit fragile.”  
  
“I think she is fine,” Coreen assured the photo. “She felt a bit off the other day and Mr. Klein took her to see a doctor but I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”  
  
“Oh. That’s very good then, that he is taking care of her. I had always been worried who would do that when I wasn’t there. Though I should have known Carl would, he’s a good boy.”  
  
Boy? In perspective maybe being called a child wasn’t all that insulting. Still, nice as this chat was...  
  
“I’m sure he is. He seems very nice. But if you could excuse me for a moment,” she said and barely waited for the man in the photo to nod before running to the door. “Vicki! I think I might have something!”  
  
Coreen turned back to the photo intending to carry on with the talk only to find it was silent and unmoving like any regular photo. She massaged her temples. Suddenly she felt even more tired than before.  
  


III

  
  
“Are you sure the photo was talking, Coreen? It could have been a radio.”  
  
“Very sure. I was standing right next to it and it was responding to what I said.”  
  
“It could be a walkie-talkie.”  
  
“What for? Besides, it moved too. And I already checked – it’s not a digital frame.”  
  
“It’s also not a talking photo. _I_ just checked _that_. Or at least it’s a very shy one as I still haven’t heard it breathing a word.”  
  
“Well, I did.”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Coreen,” Vicki turned the photo upside down and back without eliciting any reaction, “but it just doesn’t work. Are you sure you haven’t inhaled anything that could be hallucinogenic? That could be a possible answer. Or maybe you just fell asleep. Don’t think I missed all that yawning.”  
  
“I was awake enough. And I didn’t imagine it.”  
  
“If you say so. I’ll clear it with the Kleins for us to take this with us to see if we can come up with anything. For now, I called Mike to ask if they don’t have anything interesting about the area on the files. I was thinking creative burglars or something but if there is some hallucinogen in here, it might be drugs to.  
  
“I don’t think it was that.”  
  
“Well, better to cover all the bases. And you are going back home to get some sleep when we get to the office.”  
  
“I can stay.”  
  
“I’m your boss, I’m telling you to leave early. I won’t even dock your pay. Try to act appropriately. I’ll manage a few hours without you, I promise.”  
  
“Will you let me know if you discover anything interesting?”  
  
“Sure, why not. But only if you sound awake enough.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  


III

  
  
Vicki sat at her desk, staring at the old framed photo she placed on the underlit table. So far the item didn’t seem to have any intention of communicating. Which, in turn, presented the question of why had Coreen been convinced it was actually capable of speech.  
  
Of course, the girl _had been_ sleepy and _had known_ what they were looking for. If she had dozed off for a moment, she could have easily thought she witnessed something that didn’t really take place. Still, she would be the second person to witness the phenomenon so some caution needed to be employed in verifying the story.  
  
Problem was, she didn’t know of any good way of distinguishing between a photo stubbornly refusing to talk and one incapable of speech or, as a matter of fact, doing anything aside from gathering dust. It wasn’t exactly like you could shine a light in its front and order it to talk.  
  
“Am I to assume this is your main suspect?” she turned at hearing Henry’s voice behind her.  
  
“At least according to Coreen. Too bad he’s refusing to talk.”  
  
“A photograph unwilling to speak? That’s something truly astounding. What made Coreen think this was the one?” He paused. “And where is she? I find it hard to imagine her missing this?”  
  
“See, that’s the thing. I sent her home because I want to be certain that the next time she thinks she hears some picture talk it won’t be because she’s falling asleep where she’s standing.”  
  
“Ah. In that case, may I ask what exactly is the point of all this,” he gestured around.  
  
“Do you have any better idea how to tell if she’s right or not?”  
  
“I might. What would you say to us scandalising the photo enough to draw a reaction?”  
  
“Good luck with that. Mike was supposed to be here an hour ago with some data. I bet he would _love_ to open the door to that.”  
  
“Why don’t we ask him, then?” the vampire grinned and, as she strained her ears, she caught the sound of footsteps on the staircase.  
  
“He didn’t hear me say that, did he?”  
  
Henry all but rolled his eyes. “At this distance? Honestly, Vicki. How would you expect him to do that? This place isn’t designed for the best acoustics and human senses aren’t nearly as good as mine. Unless you are implying that simply having a relationship with a vampire could make their senses rub off you.”  
  
She snorted. “If that was true, I wouldn’t even let you out of bed. I could use some of that night vision.”  
  
He suddenly appeared next to her, smiling seductively. “Well, if you put it like that, we might need to test that theory properly first, before we write it down.”  
  
“Am I interrupting something?” Vicki automatically took a step back at hearing Mike’s voice from the doorway.  
  
“You were supposed to be here at six,” she informed him.  
  
“Yeah, and then I had this funny thought, hey, maybe going to a fresh homicide scene my boss ordered me to see took some precedence over delivering you some files. Shocking, isn’t it?”  
  
“Nice to know you bothered to call and tell me.”  
  
“I had no idea how long it would take. Believe it or not, but I actually had other things to do than watch the time.”  
  
Vicki was about to retort when Henry, sending her a brief disarming smile, reached for something in his pocket.  
  
“Celluci? Since you are here. I was hoping you could do me a small favour.”  
  
“What is it?” It was hard to miss the suspicion in the detective’s voice.  
  
“I bought a small apartment that I intend to let my guests use. I was hoping you could take a look at the security measures there since it’s only five minutes from where you live.” The vampire extended his hand, holding keys, to Mike.  
  
“What?” Judging by the tone alone, it was clear the request wouldn’t be considered any more incredulous had the vampire asked him to do it while wearing a neon pink tutu.  
  
“Of course, since I expect the only person using it would be Delphine, you could also make any alterations you think she will appreciate.  
  
There was some method in this madness, Vicki decided, as she didn’t recall ever seeing Mike put off balance this quick. Plus, he must have been a bit stunned, as he took the keys without managing to say a word. Still, fun as it was, it didn’t get her any closer to reading the files the detective hopefully brought.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Would you mind snapping out of it so I could finally return to my case? If you two boys want to have some other meaningful moments, leave me the papers and take this out of my office.”  
  


III

  
  
The only thing worse than not having any substantial clues in a case you are working was, as far as Vicki was concerned, having all of one clue that tells you absolutely nothing and facing a dead end in every other investigative route. Ironically enough, in this particular instance it would take said clue actually literally _telling her_ something in order for her to get anywhere with the case.  
  
It wasn’t that the lack of options was driving her crazy. Of course not. Besides, the only reason she came to work as soon as she did was so that she could double check if there was enough of a charge left in the voice-activated recorder’s left operating just in case the photo changed its mind.  
  
As it turned out, it didn’t, despite the fact that the battery was more than fine. Not that it made her feel any better.  
  


III

  
  
It had been twenty minutes past their usual starting hour when Coreen trudged into the office.  
  
“I’m sorry I’m late, Vicki. I overslept. I have no idea how that happened.”  
  
“The usual way, I’d say. You were exhausted and there was nothing urgent waiting for you at work. Sometimes that’s all it takes. Don’t worry about it.” As Vicki was speaking she took a good look at the girl. Coreen had used more make-up than usual, in what had to be an attempt to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been very successful, not the least because the Academy training taught Vicki to pick up on things like women suddenly applying much more make-up.  
  
“Still, I went to bed almost as soon as I got home. Fell asleep over the book I meant to read.”  
  
“Must have been a really exciting book.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know. I never got past the first two paragraphs. Did the photo speak to you after I left?”  
  
“Not yet. If you’re right about it, it must be one laconic photo.”  
  
“What do you mean ‘ _if_ I’m right’? Don’t you trust me? I wouldn’t make something like that up.”  
  
“I know. I _do_ believe that you _thought_ you saw it. Still, unless the damned thing lets us know it can talk, we have to consider other possibilities, like hallucinogens. Did you touch anything or thought something smelt funny at any point?”  
  
“I would have known if I was seeing things.”  
  
“If you say so,” Vicki allowed, deciding a peace offering might be in order if she didn’t want to go through the day with a sulking assistant around. “Want to have the first go at the crossword today?”  
  
Coreen looked at her with a strangely absent look in her eyes. “Nah, you can go ahead. I don’t really feel like it today.”  
  
Now, perhaps it was just her detective instincts overreacting, but Vicki was getting a little worried about her.  
  
“Are you feeling alright, Coreen?” she asked and, without waiting for a reply, placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. While her temperature seemed normal, it wasn’t exactly as much of a reassurance as she hoped.  
  
The Goth rolled her eyes at her employer. “I’m fine, really. Maybe a bit tired but that’s probably from not having woken up completely yet.”  
  
“If you say so,” Vicki said sceptically. “Just let me know if you start feeling worse.”  
  
“I’m not...” the girl began and then shrugged. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  


III

  
  
Vicki looked away from the website on myths connected to images when she heard heavy steps in the office and someone dragging a chair to her desk. By the time she put her glasses back on, Mike was already sitting down.  
  
“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” she asked with annoyance.  
  
“Didn’t want to wake Coreen. By the way, did you know your assistant is sound asleep on her desk?”  
  
“She is?” Come to think about it, Vicki realised that the outer office had been strangely quiet for some time now. She quickly stood up and went to the entrance. Sure enough, the Goth was slumbering, sitting at her desk, her head placed on her hands. Apparently the keyboard wasn’t a good enough pillow by itself.  
  
She lifted the girl’s cup and gave it a sniff.  
  
“You don’t suspect she had something added to her coffee, do you?” Mike’s cop side seemed to go on alert.  
  
“Not really. I was just wondering if it wasn’t decaf. Seemed strange how she was able to sleep after eight cups this morning,” she told him as they returned to her desk.  
  
“ _Eight_? I assume it _was_ decaf then?”  
  
“That’s the thing. It’s not. And she was pretty out of it the whole day. All while insisting she felt fine though.”  
  
“She must have a strange definition of fine, then. It looks as if someone drained the life out of her. Speaking of, I’d ask Fitzroy if he has done anything.”  
  
“An unsubstantiated allegation towards Henry? How original of you, Mike. And what would Delphy say if she heard you discriminating against vampires?”  
  
“I’m not discriminating against vampires. It’s those born in England in the sixteenth century with names beginning with ‘H’ that I have a problem with.”  
  
“Well, that makes it completely alright then, seeing how it’s not oddly specific at all or anything.”  
  
“I thought you’d see the light. Seriously though, ask him about it. I’m not saying he has to be at fault but she told me once that she wished he would bite her. If she pestered him about it enough, we might be seeing the result.”  
  
“I seriously doubt Henry would do anything that could harm her, pestering or not. Plus, I don’t think Coreen _would_ do that. She knows better than that.”  
  
“Won’t hurt to ask him, will it?”  
  
“Just how do you think it’s such a brilliant idea to accuse Henry of harming her?”  
  
“I wouldn’t say accuse. But if you tell him about the problem...”  
  
“Then there will be no reason for me to speculate about the causes when I want _his_ opinion. I _was_ thinking of asking him if he thought she was okay. If anyone would be able to tell, it’s him. Want some coffee?”  
  
“As long as it’s not anything _she’s_ been drinking.”  
  


III

  
  
Coreen opened her eyes to the realisation that the office had become darker in the brief moment when she closed her eyes. Then a quick glance at the clock told her that the moment might not have been quite as brief as she thought. She heard Vicki clearing her throat and quickly looked up.  
  
“I’m sorry. I had no idea I would...”  
  
“Save it. I’m not angry with you. Would you like to tell me why you didn’t let me know if you could barely keep your eyes open, though? And since when are you immune to caffeine?”  
  
“I’m not. I honestly don’t know how I fell asleep.”  
  
“Have you slept at all tonight?”  
  
Coreen shifted uncomfortably. She had a strange feeling that she wasn’t so much discussing it with her boss as she was being interrogated by Detective Nelson.  
  
“I _told you_ I did. More than usual too.”  
  
“Are you sure? You don’t look as if you got enough sleep. Maybe that book you read was more interesting than you thought and you read more than you intended?”  
  
“Don’t you think I know when I fell asleep?”  
  
“Do you? Maybe you just had a few things you wanted to do on the way home and got there later than you intended?”  
  
The Goth rolled her eyes. “Is this the part when I can ask for a lawyer?”  
  
“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
Vicki shot her an unamused look. “Want to go home and catch up on your sleep that you obviously don’t need at all then?”  
  
“I think I’m fine now, honestly.”  
  
“As long as you’re sure. I think I already heard that before.”  
  
“I _am_ sure.”  
  
“Fine then. But if you fall asleep again, you’re going home.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  


III

  
  
True to her word, Coreen seemed to have gotten over her sleepiness in the afternoon. Still, Vicki watched her carefully just to be on the safe side. Before either of them realised, evening fell.  
  
“Has the photograph got any more talkative since we spoke?” Somehow Henry managed to materialise in the office without either of them noticing and was now leaning against the doorframe.  
  
“Well, if it isn’t the sleep-all-day spokesman. You’re influencing my assistant a bit too much,” she informed him, ignoring the sound of protest coming from Coreen.  
  
“Would you care to tell me what you meant?”  
  
“Just that _some people_ are apparently reaching the conclusion that it’s day, not night, that is the best time for their beauty sleep.”  
  
“Hey!” The Goth strode to Vicki with the apparent intent to defend herself. “I told you I slept all night. I don’t know why I dozed off today.”  
  
“Of course,” Vicki nodded, her voice dripping with scepticism.  
  
“I did!”  
  
“Am I interrupting some discussion?” the vampire finally asked, looking between Vicki’s frown and the defiant look on Coreen’s face.  
  
“Vicki thinks I’m delusional,” the Goth informed him.  
  
“I think nothing of the sort.”  
  
“You don’t believe I know if I got enough sleep last night.”  
  
“You had dark circles under your eyes and fell asleep on your desk. How’s that a sign of getting enough sleep?”  
  
“But I did. And you don’t believe the photo was talking to me.”  
  
“It’s given no sign of life since. In case you haven’t noticed.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t talk before.” She stepped closer, looking closely at the item. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you?”  
  
“Doesn’t _like me_? Is that the best you could come up with?”  
  
“Well, why wouldn’t he say anything to you?”  
  
“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because photos in general don’t talk?”  
  
“If that makes you feel better.” The girl turned to the picture. “You like _me_ don’t you?”  
  
“Miss Fenouil? How lovely to see you again. How are you?”  
  
For a moment everyone froze in surprise. Then Coreen grinned triumphantly.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Browne. I’m fine, thank you, and you?”  
  
“Not too bad. Who are your friends?”  
  
She paused, wondering if, just because the photograph was friendly she should abandon the name precautions. Before she could decide, she realised that Henry was standing between her and the photo.  
  
“Step away from the picture, Coreen,” he instructed quietly.  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“I’ll explain later. Please,” somehow the urgency in his voice made her comply almost without consciously making the decision.  
  
When she did, the vampire slowly stepped closed to the photograph.  
  
“My apologies, sir. But before we get any further, could you tell us how you are able to communicate with us?”  
  
“What do you mean, young man? I have always been able to talk.”  
  
“In general or in this particular manner?”  
  
“Oh, I see, you mean the window, don’t you? I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember it very well until that point when I was already looking through this window.”  
  
“Do you remember when that was, sir?”  
  
“I couldn’t really say. A few weeks, perhaps. You could ask Robert, my grand-nephew. He was there with some friends at the time, playing with some candles and drawings.”  
  
“Did you talk to him then?”  
  
“I didn’t have the time, really. By the time I was strong enough, the boys left. After that, only my Ellie would talk to me. That is, until Miss Fenouil came to visit.”  
  
Henry nodded. “Do you remember any details of what the boys were doing when you saw them?”  
  
“I’m not sure. I believe there was some kind of circle...” the photo went on to describe everything before it suddenly went quiet breaking in the middle of “I don’t think there were any re-”  
  
The vampire regarded the photo silently for a moment. Then he turned to Vicki.  
  
“I believe you have the solution to your case now.”  
  
“That was the answer, huh? Good to know. And how do you propose we prove anything if he doesn’t feel like talking again?”  
  
“That wasn’t what I was referring to. Though now that you mention it,” he went to her desk and switched off a camera that had been recording everything. Then he handed it to her, smiling. “As you can see, I learn.”  
  
“Apparently. But if that wasn’t what you meant, then what was it?”  
  
“That we have the answer to how the whole situation came about in the first place. Which reminds me. It would probably be better if neither of you got too close to the photograph for more than a moment.”  
  
“Why not?” Coreen wanted to know. “He seemed really nice.”  
  
“And he likely is. Which is why I refrained from informing him that the power that holds him here made him drain energy from those he spoke to.”  
  
The girl swallowed.  
  
“Drain energy?” she repeated weakly.  
  
“Indeed. I realised what was happening when Coreen spoke to it and the process was about to repeat itself. Thankfully it was no further than to the point where you had no more to spare without doing your body harm. You managed to sleep your encounter off, it seems, and shouldn’t be any worse for that. I fear it might not have been that simple for his elderly wife and it was that what caused her to need hospital care.”  
  
Vicki narrowed her eyes. “That’s all fine and good but how come you suddenly know so much about it when you said you never heard of photos doing such things.”  
  
“I also told you I knew of instances of paintings fitting the description. I recall a ritual for summoning ghosts, rather popular in some circles in the nineteenth century, that is similar to what the boys were doing but a portrait was used instead.”  
  
“Great. Does it come with an off button?”  
  
His lips twitched. “You might say that. It has a way of dispelling the spirits that were summoned, which, I can only guess, the boys never did. We could try that first. But if it doesn’t work for any reason, destroying the picture should also end the spell.”  
  
“Oh, that is so Dorian Gray,” Coreen sighed dreamily before turning to her boss. “Vicki? Are you going to need your ASP today?”  
  
“Why do you ask?”  
  
“It’s nothing, really.”  
  
“Coreen?”  
  
“I want to pay a short visit to Robert Klein. I have a thing or two to discuss with him about giving Goths a bad name.”  
  
The PI looked at the girl carefully.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Coreen. I won’t let you attack anyone with a baton.” She paused. “Take the boxing gloves. It will be just as satisfying and won’t leave any obvious marks or fingerprints.”  
  
“Seriously?” the girl blinked incredulously.  
  
“Sure. But could you wait until his father pays us. If you still feel like it afterwards, I will show you a few good punches. Oh, and by the way. _Miss Fenouil_?”  
  
“It’s a long story.”  
  
THE END


End file.
